


Like Clockwork

by bummerang



Category: RWBY
Genre: Ficlet Collection, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Illness, M/M, Prompt Fill, mermaid/pirate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bummerang/pseuds/bummerang
Summary: Small ficlets for a small ship.





	1. vitamin c (or something)

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was 'sickness'.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Qrow said. He came to a stop by Ozpin’s desk, and though Ozpin deliberately avoided his gaze, he could still feel the weight of his judgment.

 

Or maybe it was just a sneeze coming on.

 

“This is resting.” Speaking through a stuffed nose only exacerbated the petulance, unfortunately. “Council reports don’t require a great deal of thought.”

 

“Then why did you type the same sentence three times in a row?”

 

Ozpin shot up and squinted at the screen, then turned a baleful glare at Qrow. “I did not.”

 

Qrow raised an eyebrow. “But you weren’t sure for a minute there, were you?”

 

Gods, he was well and truly out of it if he was falling for Qrow’s juvenile tactics. He fell back against his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to knead the headache away. “Qrow, why are you here?”

 

“To get you in bed.”

 

The heat on his cheeks was not from the fever.

 

“To sleep,” Qrow snickered. “For rest. Because you need it. Not that I don’t wanna bang you—“

 

Ozpin wrinkled his nose. “Don’t. I’m disgusting.”

 

“Nah. You got that kind of refined sick thing going on, all like—“ Qrow demonstrated by straightening up with the greatest exaggeration, arms crossed and head held so high he was practically looking at the ceiling. “Like you’re gonna power through by being prissy and shit.”

 

Ozpin refused to laugh, mostly because of the cough trying to itch its way up his lungs, but he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips as Qrow pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

 

“Come on,” he wheedled, gently tugging at Ozpin’s arm until he stood. “Glynda gave me ten minutes. If we’re not outta here by then, she’ll come up and throw us out herself.”

 

“I feel betrayed,” Ozpin said sullenly as he was pulled away from his desk.

 

“Yeah, well, in a couple of days you’ll feel better for it, so don’t take it too hard.”

 

He was slumped into Qrow for the entire duration of the elevator ride, his face pressed into the blessedly cool skin of his neck. When Qrow coaxed him into standing and transformed, Ozpin made a terribly pitiful noise in the back of his throat that he hadn’t been aware he  _could_ make, and it was this more than anything that truly convinced him that he needed to go to sleep.

 

Glynda merely nodded at him as he passed her desk. He had the distinct feeling that it was meant more for Qrow than himself.

 

The journey to his room was fraught with smooth marble floors trying to undermine his balance and curious students who seemed to think Qrow was quite adorable perched on their headmaster’s shoulder. Thankfully, Qrow did not nip their fingers to discourage their cooing, but the way he tried to bury himself in Ozpin’s hair deterred them well enough.

 

On the threshold of his door, Qrow fluttered off as he turned to lock it. When he looked back, Qrow was human and there, taking his cane and tossing it into the umbrella stand. He put a hand on Ozpin’s elbow and snaked an arm around his waist, guiding him as though he couldn’t manage for himself. Which he couldn’t, considering his surroundings seemed to be swaying as he did.

 

“No, hang on,” Qrow said, steering him to the dresser. “Gotta change.”

 

Ozpin murmured something into Qrow’s shoulder that could have been ‘I don’t care’ or ‘uhvernker’. He wasn’t too clear about it himself.

 

Qrow snorted. “How the hell did you think you were going to get through the day like this?”

 

“Coffee,” Ozpin surfaced to answer. “And a set of seven very colorful pills every six hours.”

 

“That’s a lot of pills.”

 

“There is much wrong with me.”

 

“When’s the next time you gotta take ‘em?”

 

“4:30.” Probably.

 

“Fine. I’ll wake you.”

 

“I can wake myself.”

 

“Sure,” Qrow said, patting his head. Ozpin was too comfortable to be insulted. “You almost walked into a few pillars back there.”

 

Oh. “Is that why you were trying to pull off my ear?”

 

Qrow’s response was to set him out on the bed and crawl in beside him, pulling the covers over them until Ozpin’s vision was filled half with his ceiling and half with the edge of his green comforter. He was still reeling a little at how quickly Qrow had gotten them both changed, and how he apparently hadn’t felt any of it.

 

Ozpin turned with some difficulty to face Qrow. “You’re going to catch this plague if you stay here.”

 

“Eh. I’ll drink a lot of lemonade.” With that, he shuffled closer to Ozpin, pulling him in his arms, arranging their limbs to his satisfaction. When he was done, Ozpin was practically sprawled over him. “Better?”

 

Slightly elevated, with his head pillowed on Qrow’s chest, his breathing came a little easier. “Yes,” more sigh than word. He focused on the feeling of Qrow’s hand rubbing circles over his back.

 

“Okay. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

 

He did so, listening to Qrow’s heartbeat.

 

-


	2. sometimes courage is about launching yourself at your boss' window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was 'first kiss'.

Ozpin awoke to the sound of what could only be described as insistent crashing.

 

Warily, still rubbing the vestiges of sleep from his eyes, he turned in his chair to the source of the noise—just in time to see a small dark shape smash itself against his window. He blinked as he stood and made his way over, just to make sure it was no apparition.

 

Another  _bang_  into the pane convinced him.

 

It had to be Qrow, but—Ozpin went cold with dread. If Qrow was here, and he was this frantic—

 

The windows in his office were not made to open, but with a speck of magic—barely anything more than the mere thought of  _‘in’_ —Qrow was suddenly inside. And still in flight. Before Ozpin knew it, Qrow shifted form and was on him, bowling them both painfully to the floor in a flurry of limbs and feathers.

 

Gods, but Qrow was heavy. And Ozpin was relatively certain there was a feather in his eye. He coughed, trying to catch the breath that had been knocked out of him. “What—”

 

—was as far as he got. He opened his eyes just as Qrow closed in and—

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

The worst thing about this was that Ozpin never wanted to move from this moment.

 

He would have been lying if he said he’d never wondered. What it would be like to be kissed by these lips, to have these hands roaming through his hair and curling in his collar, to feel the warm press of this body against his own—to be with Qrow completely and accepted for all that he was.

 

Qrow tasted sweet. His lips were soft. And he was maddeningly gentle. Fingers light and trailing. His mouth coaxing.

 

But there was alcohol in his breath, on his tongue. His movements were sluggish. And, strangely, there were still feathers. Sticking up as the ends of his hair, small patches on his cheeks, wide strips along his arms, all ruffled and uneven. Ozpin could feel the undercurrent of magic, slowed and twisted in the wake of Qrow’s overindulgence.

 

Reluctantly, Ozpin broke the kiss and pulled back as much as he could while still pinned. Qrow made a miserable noise that was absolutely obscene as he smothered his face in Ozpin’s collar, murmuring indistinctly into his neck, his breath hot and upsetting.

 

Ozpin bit his lip. Took a careful breath.

 

And he let Qrow doze in his arms as he smoothed out the feathers, waiting for the magic to settle back.

 

-

 

When Qrow was finally able to open his eyes without feeling too much like the daylight was stabbing his retinas, he realized Ozpin wasn’t there. Qrow looked around to make sure he wasn’t hiding behind the desk or in the gears above, then he flopped back down as the stabbing feeling came back in full force.

 

His hangover was going to split his head open. It was just as well. He remembered the night before with annoyingly startling clarity—flying all the way up to Ozpin’s office, the gods-damned kiss, getting sick in the bathroom, folding up as Ozpin rocked him and wiped his face clean with a cool towel—and he kind of needed it to happen now, didn’t he? He couldn’t face Ozpin ever again.

 

He was in the middle of planning his escape to Vacuo when the elevator’s quiet ‘ding’ broke him out of it, and he accepted it for the death knell it was when Ozpin appeared carrying a tray with two cups and a paper bag. For some reason, he was strangely under-dressed, missing his suit jacket and waistcoat—

 

Oh.  _No._  Qrow fingered the soft fabric of his ‘blanket’ and wished the hangover would finish him off already.

 

Ozpin paused beside him, blinking down as Qrow blinked up uncertainly. Without a word, he lowered himself to the floor, crossing his legs as Qrow sat back up. He handed Qrow a wrapped pastry and one of the cups. Dimly, Qrow thought it was rather nice of Ozpin to feed him before firing him.

 

“A difficult night?”

 

But maybe not nice enough to leave the small talk. “A bit, yeah.” Just a little more than the usual. His fingers clenched convulsively in Ozpin’s jacket. It was softer than he expected. He was probably ruining the fabric.

 

Ozpin quietly picked at his danish, but he seemed to have about as much of an appetite as Qrow. “You came  _here._ ”

 

Fuck it. If he was never going to see Ozpin again anyway— “Because  _you’re_  here.”

 

Ozpin paused the mutilation of his pastry.

 

“I meant the kiss,” Qrow said, going all-in. “I’m sorry I was such an ass about it, though.” He licked his lips, fumbling for the right words. “Look—I’m not asking anything of you. And I didn’t mean to take anything from you either—”

 

“You didn’t take anything I wasn’t already willing to give.”

 

He froze.

 

“And I meant it too.”

 

Qrow looked up. Ozpin was hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, brow furrowed at his hands. It was the least put together Qrow had probably ever seen him; down to his dress shirt, hair a truly disheveled mess.

 

“But you—you stopped.”

 

Ozpin raised his head along with a skeptical eyebrow. “You were drunk. I couldn’t be certain you knew what you were doing.”

 

Fair. “You think you know what you’re doing, though?” He grinned briefly, sharp and mirthless. “I’m…you know me, Oz.” A mess on wings, hurtling nowhere good really fast.

 

But Ozpin’s expression softened. “And you know me. I could ask the same of you.”

 

He  _was_  asking. And Qrow wasn’t sure he had a right answer. He wasn’t certain that this was something they should be doing, given all that they were.

 

But maybe it wasn’t about about  _right_  or  _should._  Maybe it was about _now_  and doing what they could.

 

And this was what he did: Qrow reached over and hesitantly closed his hand around Ozpin’s, his heart fluttering almost painfully when Ozpin immediately threaded their fingers together.

 

He still had doubts. Doubt was in his blood, but— “You think we can do something with that?”

 

Ozpin smiled, and Qrow felt his breath catch in his throat at the warmth of it.

 

-

 

They decided that the first kiss did count.

 

But they agreed that the second one was better.

 

-


	3. not 'The Shape of Water', unfortunately

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was 'mermaid/pirate au'.

Ozpin passed along the side of the  _Crow’s Nest_ , pausing only when Ruby and Yang called down at him, both of them in the actual crow’s nest.

 

He waved back, and kept going, farther and farther away from the ship, towards a small, dingy boat bobbing gently in the waves.

 

“I feel like we got this a little backwards,” Qrow said when he caught sight of him, leaning with his arms folded on the side. “It’s me that should be the one bringing offerings and stuff, ain’t it?”

 

 _Offerings._  Ozpin couldn’t resist rolling his eyes as he waded up and tossed the sack of fish, which Qrow caught with a great deal of theatrical spluttering. “I dread to think what you would bring. Besides, you’re terrible at fishing, and your family doesn’t deserve to be malnourished for it.”

 

“That’s mean. Hurtful. I’m so hurt.”

 

“In all this time, I haven’t seen you catch anything but seaweed and Taiyang’s boots. You’re better at plundering the rich than the sea.”

 

“So much disrespect.” But Qrow was grinning, easy and fond. He was also about to pull off his shirt.

 

With a start, Ozpin reached up to stop him, the tips of his fingers barely catching the hem. “Qrow.”

 

“What?”

 

“The water is too cold for you.”

 

“But you’re in it.”

 

“I’m  _made_  for it.”

 

“No, I mean—I can’t exactly grope you from here, can I?” He waggled his eyebrows, a gesture that he’d once drunkenly proclaimed had struck the hearts of thousands across the world. Struck them with what, exactly, Ozpin still did not know, but he remembered being rather confused the first time Qrow had tried it on him.

 

“Maybe if you reach.”

 

“…did you just short joke me? How does that even work?” But he sighed and lowered his shirt, probably realizing that Ozpin wasn’t going to let go. He took Ozpin’s hand, smoothing his palm along the scales. Leaning over again, he lowered their hands into the water, looking thoughtful as his thumb brushed soothingly against the inside of Ozpin’s wrist. “I missed you, you know.”

 

For Qrow to admit it directly meant very much indeed. He’d spent the last year in the northern seas following the trail of pillaged towns his sister had left behind, sailing in waters too cold even for Ozpin.

 

Sometimes, when the nights felt longer than they should, Ozpin wondered if being able to  _walk_  beside Qrow in his world would be worth the price, worth losing  _this_ — _his_  world. Watching the star-filled sky while adrift in the sway. Riding through storms, rolling and plunging with the highest waves, the little magic in him alive for the turbulence. The vastness and depth. The freedom of chasing the sun.

 

The sea was the home he had been born into.

 

Once—rather inanely, truth be told—a sorcerer had offered to make him human. In exchange for his courage.

 

_Because it takes a lot of it to do what you did. Saving a human. Loving that human, though they may leave._

 

Qrow did leave. But he came back, always. Sometimes, they even left together. And though it wasn’t ideal—Qrow always had to swim, or be in this small boat—Ozpin couldn’t imagine giving up any part of himself that had allowed all of this to be possible.

 

So, perhaps, he could be brave for this, too.

 

“Pull me up.”

 

Qrow stared, eyes going wide. “What.” Flat, disbelieving.

 

“I can’t exactly grope you from here,” Ozpin said patiently.

 

“But—you're—“ Qrow frowned. “This boat’s tiny as fuck.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“We’re gonna be squished.”

 

“I know.”

 

Then, after a hesitant pause, “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Ozpin knew he wasn’t talking about the boat anymore.

 

“I know.” He didn’t say ‘I won’t be’, because he couldn’t make that promise. But he trusted Qrow, and that was worth enough to try. He held out his other hand.

 

Qrow took it, still looking concerned, but he straightened a little, bracing. Ozpin heaved himself up before he lost his nerve, and Qrow caught him immediately, arms tight around him, dragging him over the side. Ozpin pulled and curled his body until the boat was no longer in danger of capsizing, but as the thing really was ‘tiny as fuck’ he let his tail fin hang, dipped into the water.

 

“This was not my best idea,” Ozpin admitted ruefully, allowing Qrow to shift him more to the side so that they were lying together rather than crushing the other.

 

Qrow stiffened at that, looking suddenly worried. “You okay?”

 

“Yes,” he said quickly, laying a hand on Qrow’s cheek for assurance, leaning into Qrow’s when he returned the gesture. Aside from the seats of the boat angling him strangely and the sack of fish he was using as an impromptu pillow, he was fine. More than, really. Qrow was right about the squishing. But as this meant they were squished together, Ozpin was inclined to let it be.

 

“Then it was a good idea,” Qrow said.

 

When they kissed, falling into each other completely beneath the starlit night—Ozpin let this be as well.

 

-


	4. "I can't make you pancakes in the basement."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was 'nightmare'.

When Qrow woke up alone and cold, he did not wonder. He went looking.

  
  


After a quick peek into the usual haunts—office, library, cafeteria—Qrow tried the less usual. He tried the vault. It did not disappoint. He found Ozpin tucked into a dim corner, sitting with his back against a pillar, knees drawn up and a lit cigarette held in loose fingers. Beside him, there was a shot glass partially filled with ash. Qrow almost laughed, but found his throat too tight with some unnameable discomfort. It was just— _so like_  Ozpin to be worried about leaving some dumb mess, even at his worst.

  
  


Ozpin had told him, once, that he found the vault sort of claustrophobic despite its immensity. It was the first personal piece of information he'd ever voluntarily given, way back when he'd probably felt like he had to give Qrow  _something_  for willingly following him down into what turned out to be the most depressing, fancy basement. The first thing Qrow hadn't had to pry out of him through sheer perseverance.

  
  


Finding him down here wasn't the weirdest thing. Maybe he thought Qrow wouldn't think to look for him in a place he clearly hated, which— _ha_. Qrow liked to think he knew a little bit about it, this sort of indescribable compulsion for compounding misery. He didn't hang around shitty corner bars because he  _liked_  them, after all.

  
  


Ozpin didn't raise his head when Qrow slid to the floor beside him, but when Qrow took the cigarette out of his hand and took a long, pointed drag of it, he suddenly said, “I thought you didn't smoke.”

  
  


“Mostly,” Qrow said as he breathed a gray cloud at the wall. “I thought you quit.”

  
  


Ozpin laughed. It wasn't a good sound. Short and cracked, derisive. “Mostly.”

  
  


“I won't tell Glynda if you come back up with me.”

  
  


“Qrow.”

  
  


“You didn't even leave me a note.” He feigned offense, slapping a hand to his chest. “Kinda rude to grind and dash.”

  
  


“ _Qrow.”_  Ozpin did look up then, his frown somewhat undermined by the faint blush over his cheeks.

  
  


“Was it another dream?”

  
  


Ozpin froze, momentarily looking lost. Then he turned his gaze to the wall, subdued, and said, “I didn't want to wake you.”

  
  


Almost a year in, shit tons of restless nights like tonight, and they were still at  _'I didn't want to wake you'_. Qrow had always known that it was going to be slow when they really got down to it, that there was loads to work through and not a whole lot of time between everything else, but the expectation did nothing to lessen the wrenching in the pit of his gut every time they went through  _this_. Whenever Ozpin stealthily fucked off after a nightmare and Qrow went looking for him. Qrow hoped that Ozpin would realize someday that he'd never  _not_  go looking.

  
  


“You're supposed to wake me up for stuff like this,” Qrow said gently.

  
  


“Not like this.”

  
  


“Yes like this.”

  
  


“Even if I tell you about it, you can't help,” Ozpin said softly. There was no accusation or condescension in it. There wasn't really anything. Just a sort of toneless acceptance.

  
  


Ozpin lived with many lives wrapped in his existence. He'd begun anew—and died—countless times. He had so many memories that Qrow wasn’t so sure he remembered anything so much as he was probably haunted by everything. And he was so accustomed to his own demons that he could wake up without a sound and remove himself well away, because he didn't want to be a disturbance.

  
  


There was a part of him, deep and traitorous, that kept telling him Ozpin was right. Qrow couldn't help. But Qrow was beginning to suspect it was really less about helping and more about trying. Maybe it could be enough that he was there, that he would always go looking.

  
  


He could figure out the rest as he went along.

  
  


Qrow took hold of Ozpin's hand. “I'm not asking you to tell me about it. Not right now. I just want you to tell me whenever you wake up feeling like shit so I can make you feel better by burning up some pancakes or something.”

  
  


Ozpin ducked his head, the line of him gone rigid, his grip tightening almost painfully.

  
  


“There's no picking and choosing here, okay?” Qrow continued. “You could have some weird nightmare about—fuck, whatever, Jacques Schnee dancing naked—and you'd still have to wake me up because that's what I'm here for.”  _Wait, no._  He paused, shutting his eyes tight with a wince. “For you. Here for you.”

  
  


“Are you entirely certain? That was a very specific example—”

  
  


“—that I'm gonna regret forever, believe me.” Qrow opened his eyes again just as Ozpin slumped into his side, head tilting against Qrow's.

  
  


“I do,” he said quietly, a little hoarse. “Believe you, that is.”

  
  


Qrow felt something tug in his chest at the certainty in those words. It seemed only fair, then, when he tugged Ozpin closer until he was lying somewhat on Qrow, the two of them arranged in an awkward sort of half embrace that was definitely going to be hell on Qrow's butt.

  
  


“I'd like to go back to sleep,” Ozpin said, his breath tickling Qrow's collarbone.

  
  


Qrow nodded into his hair. “All right.”

  
  


“But later, I—I'll tell you about it. Properly.”

  
  


His tone was even, but his shoulders were tense. Qrow ran a hand through his hair soothingly. “Okay.”

  
  


They could do this. One thing at a time.

  
  


He waited until Ozpin relaxed, then he stubbed out the cigarette in the shot glass and closed his eyes. The vault was cold and his ass was starting to cramp, but Qrow wasn’t alone now, so he didn’t mind.

  
-

 


End file.
